Sherlock x Reader: Undisclosed Desires
by R0ckR0s3
Summary: Expecting to have a nice and quiet life in the city of London, a certain curly-haired man turns your life around completely. Sherlock x Reader.
1. Welcome to London

London was absolutely incredible. You've expected it to be pretty, but even in the rain you enjoyed the view every street corner. As a girl from a village in the middle of nowhere, London was the first big city you've ever been to. You were fascinated a city could be so alive and bruising. Right from the start you knew your time here was going to be amazing.

Your name was (f/n) (l/n), musician and dreamer by heart and however you were too humble to say so, one of the best in England. That's why you've been invited to come and live in London. They wanted you leading an orchestra, making all your dreams come true. Your friend who was also invited for the orchestra, Olivia Pradesh, came along with you. Right now she was unpacking in your new apartment, but you couldn't contain your excitement and went straight into the city. It was raining, but obviously your didn't care. Your new hometown was way too exiting.

The pocket in your skinny jeans started buzzing, and Undisclosed Desires by Muse came out of the device's speaker. You squeezed it out of in between the wet jean fabric, and slid the screen to answer your caller.

"(f/n), you've got to see this. This house is flipping amazing! What are you out in the rain for, anyway? What's the fun in getting soaked? Get your ass over here! " The loud voice you already recognised after the first syllable. It was Olivia.

"Alright, your majesty." You laughed. "I'll get a cab, be right there." You placed somewhat of your (h/c) hair over your ear with your bare hand, to protect it from the rain.

"You better!" Your friend spoke before hanging up. You smiled at the phone and turned your phone off, before running and shouting to a random taxi presuming that was the way to get one.

The cab ride was very silent. Besides the slightly muted city noises there was nothing to hear, and the cabdriver wasn't exactly a social person. It gave you the opportunity to get to realisation once more. You were actually in London, having a job in a massive orchestra, and living in one hell of a house with your best friend. You considered yourself so very lucky, it made you feel a bit guilty.

But finally, there you were. Finally at your own place. After you had payed him, the cab drove off, leaving you standing in front of the door. The house was Victorian-like built, almost Parisian. It was white, with a balcony in front almost of every window up until the loft. You didn't really know how long you stood there admiring your house. It could've been minutes, hours, or just a couple of seconds. Who knew? Who cared?

You should've. Never have you felt any guilt like this. You hated yourself for leaving your friend alone. Because the last thing you've ever seen of your friend, was her cold dead body lying on the wooden floor. You needed a few seconds, no, lifetimes to realise what you were seeing. The bloodstains on the white emptied floor and moving boxes marked themselves into your eyes like a stabbing dagger.

There was no emotion on your face, if extreme paleness didn't count. You just stood there. Blankly. As dead as your best friend was.


	2. Violins

"Why couldn't Scotland Yard help? They can solve a normal murder, can't they?" The short man in the chair to your left spoke. The other man, who you had come for, quietly sat with his legs crossed as he stared at you while you told your story.

Simple murder. How dare he. The assassination of your best friend, your only friend, could never possibly be a normal murder. But choosing to stay professional you showed no emotion whatsoever. You didn't consult London's best detective to cry on his shoulder.

"Well," You started, and paused for a little sigh. "If I might say so, they're not the cleverest of persons. Frankly, I find DI Lestrade quite a thick man." You finished, staring at your cup of tea that was almost empty. Sherlock Holmes started laughing, and after a while the other man joined him. You raised an eyebrow at the detective. Not sure what caused them to laugh, you gave an awkward smile.

When they were done, you were the first to speak again. You noticed something particular about the short man. You notice things all the time, and believed it was part of your general weirdness, but all the things you deduced always turned out to be true.

"Mister Watson," you said, catching both men's attention, "Is your wife secretly a former psychotic assassin?" The two stares you caught a minute ago both slightly dropped their jaws and looked at you full of shock and disbelief. Also, mister Watson looked quite hurt. It was in this moment you knew you screwed up.

"You know that thing, right? Where you think of something in your mind and it seems just fine. And then you say it out loud and it seems quite inappropriate." You started blushing now, trying to bring a good smile. It remained silent for a moment, as you started hating yourself more and more. But all of a sudden, the curly haired detective smiled, even chuckled for a second.

"Explain." God, his voice was low. He was now bent slightly towards you, his hands positioned under his chin. You cleared your throat before you started rattling.

"For starters, your wedding ring. It's been touched regularly, twisted even. People only do that when their marriage is in trouble or if they're having an affair. But you're still wearing it proudly even though you're right handed, so you still love her. That means whatever happened is not happening anymore. However it still bothers you. Your eyes are tired and worried, it's still secretly affecting you even though the situation is pretty much sorted. The cleverest man of London wouldn't be your best friend if you were just an ordinary person with an ordinary life, oh no. It must've been something really bad, obviously a crime. But when I look at you I see an emotional, sensitive and very loving man. So the only thing that could upset you this much…" You stopped for breath and smiled at the two gentlemen.

"Murder. Obvious, really."

John sighed, and stared at the floor. However Sherlock's attention was still at you. He frowned, like he was trying to figure you out.

"I'm sorry… I'm a psychopath." You whispered at John, turning red.

"You're clever. You are proper clever. With a mind like that, why would you come to us?" Sherlock said. Ugh. You sighed. He was one with no sentiment or feelings.

"I might be clever but I'm not a detective." A tear. Just a little one, but it was still a tear. No. You weren't doing this. Quickly you wiped away the little drop from just under your eye.

"And I wouldn't be able to concentrate." You said. Sherlock rolled his eyes before settling them down on yours, again with a frown. You stared back this time. Who exactly was he? You sat there for a while looking into each other's eyes.

"I'm, um, just going to get us some more tea." John said awkwardly as he went off to the kitchen. He was the only ordinary human in the room, must've been frustrating.

Sherlock sighed and sat back, icy blue eyes still curiously fixed on you.

"Figured me out yet?" You asked, giving the man a smirk. He sighed.

"First time in London, your friend is horrifically murdered."

"I just told you all that." Your smirk got bigger. This man was arrogant, but clever. And yet he couldn't figure you out.

"Hold on, I'm not done. You're a psychopath, and you know it. You're proud of your weirdness and like to show it off. But it isn't weirdness, you have. It's intellect. I'd call you a genius, except I'm in the room. Also, you play piano and cello, instruments for classic music, but yet you prefer rock. You don't tell this to anyone because you're afraid of judgement."

You raised your eyebrows at him. Impressive. But it was your turn now.

"You are a psychopath too. No, hold on. You're a sociopath. You aren't exactly fond of people, yet you study them and find their complexity even a bit fascinating. You are addicted to danger and thrill, and you're easily bored. Ooh, and you have a lovely violin!" That last sentence you said with sparkling eyes. You rose from your chair and walked straight to the instrument and took it in your hands.

"No! Don't touch-" You started playing before he could finish his sentence. You played "Winter." by Vivaldi, one of the hardest pieces you were capable of. You played passionately, and somehow that left Sherlock Holmes an impression. There he sat, legs crossed and eyes fixed on you while you finished the piece of music. He was in awe.

"I'll take the case." He whispered, still looking at you. Many people say it's impossible to impress Sherlock Holmes, and you managed it in less than an hour.


	3. Fangirling

It has been about two months now. You've occupied your place in the spare bedroom in 221b Baker Street, and it's been amazing. Of course, your friend has been violently murdered, but all the same you just about became BFF's with England's best detective. Your newly bought house was now a crime scene, so you had nowhere to go until a certain Sherlock Holmes offered you a place in his apartment. And since you were a proper genius you were able to help him with a few cases.

Sherlock Holmes. An odd one, he was. But you two got along very well. Even though you always judged him, stole his tea and annoyed him every time you could. But you two still had a lot of fun. You went down the pub, solved crimes together, argued, taught him to play his violin properly, you even slept with him once! Not really "slept" with him, you just slept in his room. In his bed, with him. Cuddling. Nothing happened, really. When Sherlock gets drunk, he gets kind. So, he invited you to sleep with him, since he had "lost his teddy bear". Little did you know he slept naked? You were two psychopaths who had finally your own kind.

John was more the sensitive type, like you deduced earlier. He had helped you dealing with your friend's death, since there was no use talking to Sherlock about that. John was a wonderful man, truly. But he wasn't around much. Too busy smooching his wife. But whenever he was, he couldn't stop telling you how happy he was Sherlock was no longer alone.

And then finally there was mrs Hudson, who adored you to bits. Well, in fact she adored everyone. Even Sherlock when he was being a huge pain. Mostly she would leave you two alone, but at least thirteen times a day she would come in with tea and biscuits. You counted. Obviously you were the only one to be thankful, and that made her blush.

"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper." Of course, mrs. Hudson.

At the moment you had occupied the entire sofa, intending to watch a movie. A bit brainlessly you scrolled though the titles on Netflix. You heard bare footsteps coming towards you, and you couldn't help but smile.

"(f/n)." His baritone voice vibrated across the room. "What the hell are you doing?" You looked up with a smirk.

"Buying a bloody vacuum cleaner, Sherlock, what does it look like I'm doing?" He smiled back, now. "I'm going to watch a movie. And you think it's boring and a waste of precious time because it's always predictable and the actors are dull. But honestly, I don't give a damn. Now, off you pop to do your own useless stuff. Oh, and the violin is in the microwave, don't ask." He loved it when you were being random and clever at the same time.

"Hmm." He came closer. "In fact, (f/n), move." He stood in front of the sofa, smiling slightly. It was now that you realised he was wearing nothing but his grey bathrobe.

"No." You frowned grumpily.

"Alright then." He sighed, surprising you in a sudden tickle attack.

"Damn it Sherlock!" You laughed, trying to push the man off of you, but he was simply too strong.

"Ok, ok!" You shouted, making him stop and you placed yourself to the right of the sofa. Sherlock couldn't stop grinning. You threw a pillow at him when he sat down next to you.

"I hate you." You giggled.

"Thank you." He threw the pillow back. "You pick one. If it's dull you owe me a 5. " He stared at the screen blankly, as he usually looked at things.

"It's a deal, mister Holmes." You scrolled through the films, and as he got bored like you expected after 5 seconds, he laid his head on your lap. As you looked down and raised an eyebrow at him, he smiled as if he was laughing at you.

"You look ugly from this angle." He spoke.

"You look ugly from every angle." Big lie. You knew Sherlock was gorgeous.

"No, I don't. Pick a movie, will you?" You rolled your eyes. Impatience, much?

Now you were just simply being mean. You figured the whole Redbeard story out in about a minute (it was also his password to everything), so the movie you chose was definitely not a dull one for him. You clicked on the title of "Hachiko", and gave a smirk at the face below you.

"You'll love this one."

So, a lot of tissues, drinks, hugs and minutes later you crashed down at the sofa, on top of a red-eyed Sherlock holding you tightly to his chest.

"That man never had the chance to-"

"I know, Sherlock."

"And he just waited there in the cold!"

"It's a movie, Sherlock." You ran your hand through his dark curls, as you knew that always calmed him down.

"But it was based on a true st-"

"Sherlock Holmes, if you don't shut up now I'll set the soundtrack as your ringtone." He was quiet for a minute now. You heard his breath calm down slowly. Your position was extremely comfortable. Neither of you bothered to turn the telly off so the music from the looping title screen filled your ears as you enjoyed the tight grip of your friend.

"(f/n)?" You were almost asleep as you felt the vibration of his voice through his chest.

"Mm?"

"Do you promise not to tell anyone you've seen me like this? It's quite embarrassing." He laughed, making you shake for a second. You moved up to face him with a big grin.

"Do you promise to pay me that 5?" You bit your lip, still smiling. Sherlock didn't answer; he just stared in your eyes for a while, like he did when you first met. Those icy blue eyes saw right into your heart, always. It was as if they literally had question marks written across them.

"You look ugly from this angle." You wiped his perfect cheekbone for a forgotten tear.

But a tightening grip, pulling your head toward his, interrupted your attention for his cheekbone. You hit his lips with yours precisely. The kiss was very soft and gentle, like kissing the heart of a rose. It was barely a touch, yet so perfect. You didn't know how long it took before you pulled back. As the dreamy, still a bit teary eyes slowly opened again, you didn't exactly know where to look or what to say or think, and the man below you noticed it like no other.

"So this is what it takes to make you blush. It suits you. I'll have to do it more often." He softly wiped a lock of your (h/c) hair away from your face, before pulling you in again for a more intense kiss.

"If you must." You whispered. Oh, how you knew how to tease this man. He growled, repositioning his hands. One on your waist, one cupping your cheek. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth.

"Yes, I know. You don't have to say it, idiot. It was obvious from the start. And yes, Sherlock Holmes, I love you too,"


	4. Ashes

watch?annotation_id=annotation_1173211445&feature=iv&src_vid=H2-1u8xvk54&v=BEXYYIiWHIk - Listen to this if you want your life to be better.

_You were silent. Blankly staring at the heavily breathing man in front of you. His angry face slowly turned sad. Tears streamed down his face and he looked you in the eyes. As soon as he wanted to walk towards you, you took a big step back and squeezed your hand into a tight fist. The engagement ring around your fourth finger pressed a mark into the skin around it._

"Liar." You whispered after a long pause of trying to breathe through the smoke.

Around you was the smell of fire, and you were standing in the ruins of what was once 221b. Your home. Sherlock's lilac shirt was torn apart, and stained with blood. A thick layer of ash, dirt and tears covered his face. Yet at this very second you didn't look any better. Your once perfect black dress was now but a distressed piece of fabric covering your body, and there was a hole in your skin just above your collarbone. Blood streamed from it, and it hurt. The pain was unbearable, and everything inside you was screaming. But only the man in front of you was worth your attention at this very minute. Living together for 2 years, engaged for 1 month, and pregnant for 2 weeks. All for nothing… 

"Sherlock."

A beeping, harsh noise hit your ears as your vision started to become clearer. The room was very white; it was the brightest and most painful colour you ever encountered. A tall man was staring out of the window in front of you, hands behind his back. You knew he heard your mumble, he just didn't know how to react.

"If I wasn't tied to a machine at the moment I would've killed you a million times." Perhaps it was because of the fact that you truly hated Sherlock Holmes your tone was so aggressive, or it was just your nagging headache triggered by the bright room.

He gave a laugh and slowly turned his face towards you. It was damp, and his eyes were red and tired. But you didn't even care how long he waited or how much he seemed to love you after all. The man in front of your bed had betrayed you. He had gotten your best friend, half your family and nearly even you killed. But hooray, Sherlock Holmes solved the case.

He kneeled down at your bed, his fingers slowly reaching for your arm. He caressed the skin, going from the infusion in your pulse to the beautiful diamond ring around your finger. You pulled your hand back and let out a sigh.

"Oh, so you're here to apologise, and then we'll live happily ever after, am I right?"

Days you two spent trying to find the murderer that killed your best friend. But when your niece, and sooner your brother had been a victim, you knew he was after you and no one else. Sherlock knew. He had known it from the start. Who you were, why the killer wanted you and who the killer was. The whole I-love-you-game was just a beautiful human error he was able to take advantage of.

_"If you want to hurt her you should know the consequences. " Sherlock bravely intrigued the man, coat collar turned up and skin looking silver in the streetlights of London._

"Which is a dork in a scarf. Should I run now?" The smoke-damaged voice echoed from around the corner.

"Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant man. And just a tiny bit love-struck, ain't it?" The voice laughed, it followed by a minute of heavy coughs.

"Quite strangely it makes me more dangerous than ever. Consider this a mere warning. She's under my protection." Sherlock tried not to shiver from the cold London's winter gave him as he walked away from the quiet moonlit street. His hand reached in his pocket, wrapping his fingers around a small velvet cube. He polished it with his thumb and tried to fight his tears. Marriage would save you, he thought. It was the perfect way of getting you out of England. And if he had to sacrifice himself, he would. 

"Well go on, I'm listening." This time you couldn't help but notice the tear running down your face. Neither could Sherlock as he wiped it off your cheek.

"I didn't know you were pregnant." Sherlock said after quite a pause.

"I'm going to have it removed, don't worry." He gave no reaction.

"Right, (y/n), I'm not the man for sentiment, but…" Sherlock sighed again, view falling on the floor and grabbing your hand a little tighter this time.

"What I did, I did it to protect you. Not because you were on the death note of a murderer, but because I fell in love with you and I want you safe and protected for as long as I live." It was like he wasn't himself anymore. Never before had you seen him crashing down like this. But you weren't falling for it that easily.

"Oh quit the act. I know you, Sherlock. And I know you're clever and you have the ability to say whatever is needed whenever it's needed to get what you want. But now isn't the time to show it off. I'm not your fangirl."

"The case is over. I solved it. There will be no more victims. You do know me. And you also know that if I didn't care about you I would've walked out of here right away." Sherlock caressed your cheek with his cool hands. He almost whispered, avoiding his voice to crack because he could no longer fight his tears.

"I'm so sorry. I am. For your loss and all the hurt that I've caused you. I've been heartless and selfish, and I understand if you want to continue without me. But can I beg of you…" He swallowed and took a deep breath, digging his big blue eyes into yours and he laid his hand on your stomach.

"Come home with me. Please. Both of you. Have a life with me."

Without thinking, you smiled through your now streaming tears and nodded. He came a bit closer and gave you a soft, tender kiss on your lips. Afterwards he looked at you, smiling just for a bit as he caressed your face and hair. Both smiling, he sat there for a while holding your hand. Conspiring what the future held for both of you before you drifted off to sleep.


End file.
